Lessons in Language and Manner
by Unscathed
Summary: A surreal conversation after the war. Two people find each other. Severus Snape/Harry Potter


Lessons in Language and Manner 

By: Unscathed

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I just knock them over and play with them, and dress them up in funny clothing and make them talk in funny high-pitched accents. They belong to J.K. Rowling and her gang of heartless publishers. (Just give me the fifth book and I'll forgive all past sins…until I'm finished with it.)

Warnings: Severus Snape/Harry Potter. That line between their names is a slash. It means they are _together._ They might hug, they might kiss, they might have hot, wild screaming monkey sex (But not on FFN). If this thought nauseats or sickens you…go away. If you chose not to heed my warning and send me nasty letters, all the more fool you are.

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Harry Potter wondered just where he got off, really. Staring at the knickknacks on the mantle, a calm fire burning a few feet from his left knee, plush rug under his scuffed shoes. Knickknacks. If they could be called that. There was an old knife, and Harry reflected that it was probably surgery-sharp as he ran his finger down the ancient sheath; there was a tiny silver snake that raised its head when Harry poked it, but it didn't speak and he didn't speak to it. It was rude to talk to other people's ornaments.

"Potter," said a voice from behind.

"Harry," he corrected, trying to make it sound absent, trying to hide his childish unease. It was probably rude to be noticeably afraid of people while voluntarily visiting their house. "Call me Harry," he said, and turned around.

Severus Snape stood with two cups of tea, one in either hand, and the most interesting expression Harry had ever watched. Bemused, Harry finally decided on, with a dash of confusion, maybe. Sadness? Severus set the two cups down on a coffee table, motioned Harry into a chair. The chair was, of course, green, but plush and velvet and comfortable, which was surprising. Harry almost expected some sort of discomfort. Oh well.

"Then I must ask you to call me Severus," the man said in a mild tone, making it sound as equal repayment. It all felt very superficial and strange. Harry took a sip of his tea and tried not to make a face. No sugar. As if anyone was ever invited to call him Severus.

Dumbledore had.

Harry winced, trying to hide the expression by looking toward the flames. It didn't fool anybody, but Severus didn't say anything. Tactful. "Nice house you have here," Harry said quietly, looking around. It truly was. A mansion by Harry's proportions, though it was not too terribly large. Plush, mostly green and silver, decorated with definite shifts in hand and generation. One corner looked remarkably Victorian, while the entire hall from the foyer looked so simplistically modern that the two should have clashed. But green was green, and silver silver, so one room faded into the next with subtle swashes of Slytherin color. Altogether appealing, if a Gryffindor could get over House biases.

"Thank you," Severus said, and took a sip of his tea. He made no expression. Silence reigned, but for the soft crackle of the fire. Finally, looking toward the flames, Severus said, "Harry, what are you planning to do, now? Have you chosen your team yet?"

His tone was mild, as if he were talking about the weather. It was good that the man was looking at the fire, for Harry had to stifle the sudden urge to curl up into a ball and cry into his tea. He took another sip, grimaced, and said with as much retaliatory mildness as he could summon, "Ah, no. I've decided not to go into Quidditch. I've been looking for a job…" To support himself through Academe, to support himself through Academe, Harry repeated, but the words had died in his throat at Severus's sharp glare.

"A job?" The man's fingers had gone white around his cup. "You're looking for a job? Harry Potter, who could have any position at the Ministry, the Boy Who Lived—"

"To support myself through Academe!" Harry said, though it came out far too near a wail for his liking. "To support myself through Academe," he repeated. He'd gotten his class list just a day ago, stared down at subjects he knew more about than any just-graduated pupil had any right to. "The Academe by London," he finished quietly. It was a small school, prestigious enough for any just-made hero, small enough for good teaching, large enough that he just might have a chance at becoming another student. It was the school Severus had gone to, before coming back to Hogwarts. "I've been looking for an apartment and a part time job." It didn't really matter where, since he could Apparate.

Severus's expression was unreadable, and Harry wondered just what the man was thinking beneath the mask. The flames popped, spreading glowing sprinkles over the grate. Harry stared into the light for a long time, waiting for the silence to be broken.

"Academe by London," Severus said finally. "That's where I went."

"Is that so?" Harry took another sip of his tea, managed not to wince. The snake on the mantelpiece glittered like broken glass, and Harry could see its emerald-chip eyes glimmering in the lamp light, it was staring at him.

"That is." Severus was looking at him, black eyes boring into him. Harry wanted to curl up and cry. He took another sip of tea, and nearly cried anyway.

"How is the job hunt going?"

Harry didn't want to even dignify that with a response. From the mantle, emerald eyes didn't blink. Severus remained silent, as if actually waiting for a response. It was probably rude to ignore the host. "Crappy," he answered finally, under his breath, to the tea. "No one wants to hire the Boy Who smegging Lived to stock shelves." Better to get the nastiness away himself, rather than let Severus fall back into the roll he had kept for nearly seven years. Some days Harry wished it was like that again; Snape was Snape, life was simple. Forget Voldemort, Pettigrew. Forget Dumbledore, Frank, Neville, Nagini, Draco. Harry put the cup down and hid his face in his hands. "I'm fine."

"You sound it."

Silence again. Through the gaps in his fingers Harry stared at the leaf colour of his new robes, green to accent his eyes. The weight of his glasses was gone from his nose, his hair combed into something resembling order. The scar remained.

Severus turned his cup in his hands. The tea was long since cold, a chill and dark puddle. He took a sip, licked his lips absently. "I'll check around. You can brew potions fine."

He should damn well be able to. Harry made a face against his palms. The last year and a half had been nothing but brewing potions. He'd studied Potions, Defense, Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, Potions, oh and did we say Potions? When life and death were on the line, agate and witch hazel gained new importance. He had learned his damn potions. Somewhere along the line he'd even learned why a Death-Eater turned spy would like making them. There was something peaceful about weighing, measuring, something reassuring in knowing that the same formulae always worked. Muffled, Harry made a sound of agreement.

Harry could feel Snape's eyes on him again. The man said nothing. After a moment Harry uncurled, blinking hard to hide the dew on his lashes. He looked at the fire again. Severus still looked at him. Maybe he was reading it all wrong…

"Harry…"

"I'm fine."

Severus looked back at the fire. Harry could still feel him watching.

"Do you want some more tea?"

"Sure."

Severus had to pry the cup out of Harry's fingers. The liquid inside was still warm. He said nothing as he left the room. Harry went back to the mantle, touching the snake, who had fallen asleep. Emerald eyes stared up at him. "Hi," he whispered to it. It said nothing back. "Do you talk?" he asked it.

"It doesn't have a mouth."

"Ah."

Severus came up beside him, touching the snake. "It has your eyes," the man said, running one fine finger along silver coils. It reminded Harry of Nagini. A lump formed in his throat.

"Hmm."

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

If there ever was a line like that. Harry was silent for a moment, wishing he hadn't thought of Nagini and made himself sad again. "Nothing. Job hunting."

"I have a job for you. Meet me at Diagon Alley at noon." The finger touched the snake's chin, and the creature rubbed gently against the proffered digit. It was probably rude to stare so much. Harry stared anyway. He wanted to cry at the changes he saw in the man. Some of it was the way he was looking, but even more was from the war. As if an ex-Death Eater could have seen anything that would have made any difference, any shock. Apparently nothing could have prepared anyone. Even Voldemort had been surprised at least once. That last time.

"Why?"

Severus didn't twitch. Harry wished the finger were touching him, not some spelled piece of metal that stank of snakes and betrayal. "Why are you helping me?"

Severus didn't answer. The damned snake had his eyes. Chips of rock, cold silver, no mouth. Harry turned away. Another cup steamed by his chair. Harry sat, curling his fingers around the warm porcelain. It was probably rude to put shod feet up on nice upholstery, so his feet remained on the ground. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on a green chair in Severus's house and never leave. The one place he had left. The one place that didn't stink of memories of the dead.

"Thank you, Severus."

"For what?" The man came away from the fire, settling down into the adjacent chair and picking up his own cup of tea.

For fighting alongside him, for teaching, for learning, for living afterwards. For inviting Harry to his house. "For the tea." Harry took a sip. It was warm, sugared, creamy. He took another sip, tried not to look surprised.

"Of course," Severus said. "Anytime. Thank you."

Unspoken words, unspoken memories cluttered the air. Harry looked back to the mantle, but the snake was gone or asleep. Harry felt a pain in his chest, bit his lip to keep from crying. "Anytime?"

Severus was looking at him again, and Harry wondered if they were speaking the same language. Then Severus said, "Of course," again. Harry nodded, still unsure.

"I should probably go." Harry finished the last of his tea in one long, rude gulp. Stood. "I've got to get up tomorrow." For what? To spend hours deciding which new robe to wear before meeting Severus at Diagon Alley? Whatever.

"Of course," Severus said, rising with all the sinister grace as he had ever had. His eyes were unlearnable, unspeakable. He held out one long fingered hand, to shake. His tea was on the coffee table, still steaming.

It was probably rude to grab the host's hand so desperately, probably rude to pull him closer. Most definitely rude to kiss him as if there was no tomorrow. As if the war still raged and there really was no tomorrow. If it was so rude, then why did the man kiss back, clinging as if there were no one else in the world who knew him? Apparently they'd been speaking the same language all along. Harry sighed into Severus's lips.

Harry withdrew, pulling back just enough to part their lips, his arms still around Severus's waist, Severus's arms still around his own waist. "See you tomorrow?" Harry said, without moving another muscle.

"Hmm," Severus said, and Harry could have sworn he saw amusement in the dark eyes, mixed with that same bemusement he'd seen at the beginning of the visit. Surprise? Saddness? Harry smiled, and wished the shadows away.

"Tomorrow then," Severus said, voice low and warm, and kissed him again.

Oh well, Harry reflected in the small portion of his mind not caught up in Severus's lips. He'd probably have to wear the leaf-green again tomorrow at Diagon Alley. Whatever. Mabye he could spell it a different colour in the morning. Then Severus's toungue moved and he thought nothing at all.


End file.
